


The Night We Met

by Ladelle



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: M/M, Suit & Tie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 02:51:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7667434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladelle/pseuds/Ladelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Under the suspicion that Dick has a secret lover, Jason decides to lure out the mysterious 'Tim' that Dick seems desperate to hide. What he gets is definitely not what he expects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night We Met

**Suit and Tie**

Jason rubbed the card between his fingers, wondering how many times Dick had done the same. It was old and worn, peeling at the edges; a flimsy corner of card-stock smudged with faded print.

"Tim, huh?" Jason murmured to no one in particular, reading a name that Dick had carelessly scribbled down. Beside it, in quick strokes and solid lines, read 10pm.

It was 10:08.

Jason licked his lips, chasing the sensation with a quick drag. He felt his nostrils flare at the intake, saw how red his knuckles looked under the heady glow of the streetlamp above. A bitter breeze tugged the smoke from between his lips, sent it curling as he exhaled.

"Can I help you?" he asked as he caught, for the umpteenth time, a glance thrown his way.

“Probably not.” The words came smooth; iced liquor on a clean palate. It was unexpected, and so Jason took another pull from his cigarette and let his gaze drift.

 _Young:_ his first thought. Well, younger than Jason, at least. College-age, probably; he had that look: straight-laced, fine-lined. A still portrait of something that probably looked better in motion, especially after having been poured into a three-piece suit.

"You get lost on your way to a charity event or something?" Jason asked, taking another pull. Up the way, not too far, a cluster of drunken men bled out from a bar and into the street, their laughter painting the blank canvas of an otherwise silent street.

The question earned Jason a cocked head and a sharp stare; those dark eyes worked to pin him in place.

A silent warning: _Not interested._

"I'm just saying," Jason shrugged, tipping back against the brownstown wall behind him, his leather jacket tightening at his shoulders. "If you've got your hopes set on catching a cab, you're asking for disappointment."

No annoyance; no furrowed brow or lip-sinking frown. In fact, Jason earned an expression that was calm and unreadable, partnered with an eerily casual turn.

"Really?” the younger man asked, feigning surprise. “No cabs near _Crime Alley_?"

Jason snorted just before flicking the butt of his cigarette to the ground, crushing its fading ember with a worn-soled boot. He raised his hands in surrender, not really looking for trouble; his mood was already shit and one more glance at his watch told him what he _didn’t_ want to know, that this _Tim_ person was a no-show, that the _only_ clue Jason had was going to stand him up.

" _Tim,”_ Jason practically spat the name, aggravation tugging his tone deeper _. “10pm at the corner of 16_ _th_ _and Main._ Yeah, right.” It took less than a moment for his fingers to crumble the card to trash in his palm, and less time to toss it over his shoulder.

A sound echoed behind him, lost in his fleeting agitation, until Jason was forced to stop because someone had him by the arm.

“Oi,” he said, turning; this was a bad enough part of town, and Jason really, _really_ wasn’t looking for trouble…and surprisingly, it was Mr. Charity Event that peered up at him, lamplight turning his eyes lighter, painting them blue.

“Are you…” the younger man started, cheeks red from the late-night chill. He looked hesitant to ask, “Are you a friend of Dick’s?”

Cogs turned and Jason felt his mouth go dry; it wasn’t his intent to drink in those words, to get a better look at who had him by the arm – to confirm that yeah, this kid was definitely college-age, all narrowed eyes and tight-lipped curiosity.

"Depends,” he offered, attempting to read the situation. “Are you Tim?"

It was strange, the way the previous tension dispelled, the way Jason could tell he'd hit the mark. It was in the subtle way that the other wore emotion, the way the corners of his lips relaxed, as if he’d consciously decided to sheathe what Jason assumed was a silver-tongue.

He— _Tim_ —looked relieved.

And then, in one turn, genuine concern conquered those calculating eyes. "Did something happen? Is Dick okay?"

It was odd, seeing that look on a stranger; that type of worry rarely planted itself in strangers, which had Jason pressing his tongue between his teeth, keeping the interrogation he’d had planned at bay.

Instead, he played along.

" _Is Dick okay_ ," Jason repeated, shaking his arm just enough to get this _Tim_ to let go; his fingers still clung carelessly to the sleeve of Jason’s jacket, and dropped without so much as an apology. “That’s a loaded question, if I’ve ever heard one.”

Tim’s worry deepened to concern, and Jason shrugged, once again pocketing his hands. “Dick’s fine. He had something come up last minute and asked me to come. Didn’t really tell me what I was getting into. Said I’d have fun, though.”

At that, Tim’s eyebrows drew inward; for a fraction of a second, Jason could almost make out the thin thread of emotion that brought a frown to Tim’s lips. By the time Jason managed a blink, Tim’s eyes had narrowed.

“He said that,” Tim stated, flatly. “Dick.”

“Sure did,” Jason announced, not an ounce of guilt in his tone. It was all lies, of course – but that’s why he was here, because Dick certainly wasn’t going to admit where he disappeared to every other Friday or why he kept that tattered, peeling card tucked in the darkest part of his wallet.

“And the reason he felt he couldn’t call me…?”

It was surprising how heavy Jason’s pocket felt, weighed down by Dick’s phone. In some ways, he was surprised he’d snagged it, that he’d seen the texts come through and acted on pure, base instinct.

______________________________________  
**TD** 3:46pm

 _I know you said we should lay off for a while, but I need you._  
______________________________________  
**TD** 3:46pm

 _I'll meet wherever you want._  
______________________________________  
**TD** 3:58pm

 _Also, I was dead serious when I said no more dinero. It’s not that I mind you buying me things, but…_  
______________________________________  
**TD** 4:02pm

 _We can talk about it later.  
_ ______________________________________

  
  
Even now, the implications sat.

They felt impossible, now that Jason had this Tim character right in front of him – he couldn’t imagine _this_ being Dick’s type, slim legs dropped into tapered trousers, dark jacket strewn over an eggshell-colored button up. No coat, because why ruin the overall image for the sake of _not freezing_ – and gods, this kid was a bit _young_ for Dick, wasn’t he?

“Who knows,” Jason swallowed the growing tension. “I’m not really his sitter. He asked me to come meet you, and so here I am.”

The words did little to dispel the distrust reflected in Tim’s gaze, and after a fraction of thought, the younger man simply sighed; it wasn’t something audible, only obvious because his breath poured clouds from between his lips.

“Well, give him my best,” Tim stated, not bothering to lessen the coolness of his tone. “I’ll catch him another time.”

And...that was that.

Jason blinked, watching Tim turn on his heels; polished Oxfords that caught streetlight and made Tim look, once again, too nice for this part of town.

A curse barreled its way to Jason's lips but he somehow kept it there. He moved faster than expected, catching up to Tim with hurried precision.

"That's it?"

The stride didn't slow; in fact, Tim kept good pace, kept a straight face: calm, unreadable, even as he said, "What do you mean, _that's it_? What were you expecting?"

Jason searched for his words from earlier. "To...have fun?"

Tim stopped. It was sudden, impulsive. His schooled expression finally broke, and surprisingly, Jason found himself taking a step back.

"Okay," Tim said, obviously offended, even more obviously agitated. "I'm not going to say that you don't know Dick, because honest to God, I have no idea. But _go have fun?_ ” Tim eyed him, hard. “I have _no idea_ what it is that you think Dick and I do, but I guarantee you, he would never send some _random stranger_ to meet me at the corner of _Shot or Get Shot Twice_ with the incentive of _go have fun.”_

Jason stilled, felt his eyes go hard as his mind stumbled over the whole of that - barely registered Tim slipping past him; a clean enough getaway that they didn't even brush shoulders.

Snow began to descend in a light and airy drift, and up ahead, the front door of a bar flew open.  A rectangle of harried, yellow light spilled out and onto the sidewalk, shadowed by a handful of drunk, grisly men that went stumbling towards the street.

They laughed; they cajoled. They were assholes, because two nearly got hit by a car creeping down the street, and threw slurs at the driver before beating the hood.

Tim didn’t slow his steps; in fact, Jason watched him keep pace, attention drawn to a phone he’d tugged from his pocket. Uncaring, aloof – certainly an odd personality type, certainly not what he’d _expected_ , and damn if he was willing to leave without _some_ kind of _answer_.

“Hey!” one of the men hollered, one that hadn’t drifted too far from the bar. He staggered towards Tim, one arm outstretched, eyes bleary. “Hey, you got a twenty?”

Even as Jason approached from behind, he was surprised by the way things unfolded, by the way Tim simply _kept going_ as if he hadn’t heard, as if this type of thing didn’t bother him.

Looking the way he did, dressed the way he was, Jason imagined it _should_ bother him – after all, Jason knew rich kids, knew that if they weren’t the type to throw out insults, they were the type to stutter and stumble, afraid of the dark and shadowed alleys everyone attempted to forget Gotham owned.

“I’m _talking to you_ ,” the man gritted, just before stumbling forward, reaching curled fingers towards Tim’s back – which Jason snatched midair and squeezed hard enough that the man cried out.

“Looks like he doesn’t really feel like talking,” Jason stated, before tossing the man’s hand sideways with enough force that he swayed. It was Jason’s intent to continue on, but one of the other drunks who’d lingered blocked his path, batting an empty beer bottle against his palm in threat.

Jason sighed.

Ahead of him, he saw Tim stop and turn, gaging him with a lifted brow.

“You picking a fight?” the man questioned, red-nosed and heavyset, with chapped lips and a tongue that seemed to move too much when he spoke.

“With you?” Jason asked, tipping back and onto his heels lazily. “Of course not. I prefer a challenge.”

The drunk grit his teeth and lifted his arm, fully prepared to close the distance between them and swing – when Tim stepped between them and handed over a few crumpled, wadded bills.

“Hanover’s got two for one’s on hard liquor,” he pointed down the way, pointedly avoiding Jason’s gaze as he did so, “and they’re open for another two hours.”

The apples of the man’s cheeks burned a satisfied scarlet color, and he lowered his hand before clapping Tim on the back, and swiping the green from Tim’s fingers. His eyes danced to Jason, as if daring him to act, and Jason, completely over it, simply sidestepped them and continued down the street.

What an idiot.

Laughter followed him, as did the sound of footsteps, light on pavement. Jason found himself chewing on his tongue, pissed – feeling annoyed as he pocketed his hands when a cool draft swept his bangs lengthwise across his forehead.

“There’s a trick to it, you know,” Tim’s voice sounded from behind him. Jason turned his head, just enough to catch a glimpse and feel agitated that Tim was still staring down at him phone, face lit by the screen.

“To being a moron?” he questioned idly. Only upper-class, _deep-pockets_ tossed bills out like confetti, _especially_ in this part of town, where alcoholics and prostitutes practically lined the streets.

Tim maintained a placid expression. “That seems more up your alley. Got any pointers?”

Jason frowned and paused in his walking, waiting the brief five steps it took before Tim was caught up with him.

“I’m not the one wearing $800 in Gotham’s red light district.”

The light from Tim’s phone cast an eerie shade of blue onto his features, revealing a few freckles at the curve of his jaw. “Mmm, $150, actually. Believe it or not, it’s a rental.”

Looking at it now, walking less than an inch from Tim, Jason thought that the fabric looked eerily pristine, that the colors were too finely put together.

“You rented a suit to visit my brother?”

At this, Tim’s expression _did_ change; his eyes widened and he glanced up, and once again Jason found himself accosted by those too-perfect, baby-blues.

And then, Tim raised an eyebrow.

“You…look nothing alike,” he said, and he squinted as if that might make a difference. And then, as if he’d come across some startling realization, Tim stopped in his tracks. “Wait…did Dick…did he tell you about me?”

Jason stopped a couple of steps ahead, shrugging, using what information he had to his advantage. “He feels bad about the whole thing,” Jason supplemented a lie thinking Dick _would_ feel bad about standing someone up. Then, his thoughts promptly drifted to Damian, who was the reason Jason was here to begin with. “You probably don’t know this, but there’s someone else.”

It wasn’t that Jason was particularly modest when it came to being blunt; typically, he said what was on his mind. He could count on one hand, however, the number of times he’d said something that could draw out an expression even remotely similar to the one Tim was suddenly wearing was few and far between.

“What?”

Jason thought of Damian, thought about _everything._ How he’d caught Damian sitting outside on the steps to Dick’s apartment two Fridays ago, waiting patiently, chin resting on his steepled fingers.

 _“I think he’s seeing someone._ ” Damian had said.

Looking at Tim, taking in the way his lips had fallen apart, how his placid expression had frayed under such a simple statement, had Jason’s gut twisting.

He hadn’t wanted Damian to be right.

“I can’t believe he sent you here to tell me that,” Tim stated, brows knitted in confusion. It only took a moment before his gaze fell back to his phone and his thumbs began moving, effortlessly stringing together what looked like a paragraph-long text. “I know things were getting serious, but…”

“How serious?”

Tim looked up, catching Jason’s eyes just before allowing his attention to dance sideways, as if he were embarrassed to admit what came next. “Well, we were going to tell Bruce. You know…about us.”

It was a good thing that Tim chose that moment to start forward again. He sighed, undoubtedly hiding the sound of Jason’s teeth sinking together - Jason, who’s tangible anger had him feeling tingly. He couldn’t _believe_ Dick – one, he had _Damian_ , for Christ’s sake, and _two_ – seriously, who the _hell_ was _Tim_?

It’s wasn’t like Dick had _ever_ mentioned him. It wasn’t a name that had slipped – hell, _Roy_ hadn’t even brought anything up, and Dick still talked to Roy about _everything_.

How was it possible for Dick to hide something so well – to hide _someone_ , like some big secret? And regardless of how much loyalty Jason had towards Damian – how unfair was that to Tim?

Was Tim _not_ just some random hookup? Was it serious enough that they were honestly readying themselves to let _Bruce_ in on the relationship, of all people?

“Where are you going?” was what Jason asked, hardly paramount to every other question riding the waves of his curiosity. In an answer, Tim’s arm lifted and he gestured, and Jason just made out a faded sign that pointed of an arrow pointing towards the subway station, which wasn’t too far off.

It had Jason groaning; this whole situation had his head spinning, and it took a valiant effort on his behalf to get his anger focused, directed at _Dick_ , where it needed to be – when the phone in his pocket, Dick’s phone, suddenly vibrated.

Biting his lip, Jason pulled it out – thought, for the umpteenth time, that Dick was asking for trouble, not putting a passcode on his phone. And Jason, having already stolen it, having organized this whole meet-up outside of Dick’s knowledge, with his own agenda and his own suspicions, hardly felt guilty when he thumbed open the text that had come through.

…which was from Tim.

 ______________________________________  
**TD** 10:47pm

I know that this whole thing has you feeling really anxious, and I get it…I know that you’re worried about me. I know that Damian’s been suspicious and that you haven’t been able to tell him…I know that it kills you, that you can’t be honest with him...and I know that you’ve wanted me to be a bit more aggressive, and maybe me needing you to take the lead has made you feel like I can’t give you what you need, I don’t know.  
______________________________________  
**TD** 10:49pm  
  
You should have just come to my place tonight, Dick. We could have figured this out.  
______________________________________

   
“What the _fuck_ ,” Jason’s eyes lifted to find Tim’s retreating back, which had already disappeared down the stairwell, and he clenched his teeth before picking up the pace, darting after in a hasty jog.

Lungs burning, Jason inhaled sharply, wondering how people did this – how they took the transit in the dead of winter, waiting underground in icy, white-tiled tunnels.

An age-old recording announced that this was the last train, and Jason felt the low rumble of the cars approaching. His eyes darted across the way towards the security booth where no one was stationed, and rolled his eyes – taxpayer dollars hard at work.

It worked to his advantage however, and he simply hopped the turnstile, following less than casually after Tim as he took a step past opened doors and ventured mid-car. Jason wasn’t surprised when Tim’s eyes caught his and held them, and he wondered how often Dick had been on the receiving end of this particular expression.

“You never told me the trick,” Jason said, as if he’d followed Tim just to ask.

“What?”

“Earlier, you said there was a trick.”

Tim’s gaze followed Jason as he took a few strides forward, remembering the times he’d snuck onto the tram as a kid, how he always went for the seats farthest back, best hidden.

It felt off to be out in the open, completely alone except for one other person; someone he’d spent nearly an hour trying to size up.

“Oh,” Tim said, like he’d forgotten about it, like it wasn’t really important anymore. It was strange, the difference in his mood; he’d been so cold, and while there was nothing about him that read _open book,_ he had certainly lost a bit of his fire.

“It’s nothing,” Tim waved Jason off before looking down at his phone, as if waiting for a text. “Just you know, you give them a wad and they feel good about it, and it’s not until later they realize you’ve only given them ones.”

Jason thought back to Tim’s monetary compromise, and how giddy the drunk had been, and he snorted.

“Cheating your thing?” Jason asked, wrapping his fingers around a cold support bar as the doors to the train closed. He didn’t bother hiding the double entendre, and if Tim caught it, he didn’t let it show. Instead his gaze drifted, and Jason saw how tired he was; lit under a better array of lights, Tim was even more handsome; he had a boyish quality that clashed with the sharp curve of his eyes, dark lashes that fell heavy against his cheeks, and skin that looked like the only light it ever saw was from a computer screen.

“I dunno, is fighting drunk people yours?” Tim ended up saying, and Jason lost himself in Tim’s lips, somehow caught on the way they formed words and fell off certain notes.

How well did Dick know those lips?

“Next time I’ll just let him shake you down,” Jason snorted. “You wanna let a bunch of boozers steal your lunch money, go for it.”

Shaking his head, Tim tugged his collar away from his neck, loosening it a bit, exposing a dip of skin that disappeared beneath. He sighed, and the sound of the subway whistling through narrow tunnels ate part of the silence that sat between them.

“Are you going to come to my place instead?” Tim asked finally, licking his lips. He drew his hands together in his lap, an action Jason was completely conscious of as he stood, trading off holding the bar for tugging at a leather band hanging from above.

“Excuse me?”

“You said _next time_ ,” Tim said. “I’m just wondering if Dick was hoping you might be interested, and…I mean, I guess it doesn’t _have_ to be Dick. But you’re going to have to tell me what you expect. I don’t have as much experience as you might like.”

Jason felt his throat go dry.

For one _long_ moment, he entertained the idea; the notion that Tim, sitting quietly, limbs drawn in for warmth, was inviting him to _take Dick’s place_. That all of those texts on Dick’s phone could be his.

_You should just come over._

_I know you wanted me to be more aggressive_.

 _I need you_.

It was hard not to feel an odd warmth at that; one soon doused with the stinging reality that Tim seemed an awful lot like an _escort_ , like some kid riding the coattails of slightly older men who were willing to throw money at him.

“You are something else,” Jason stated, finally giving in because there was only so much patience a man could own in a day. “The answer to that is _no._ ”

The intensity of Jason’s reply caused Tim’s lips to fold, and he frowned, looking around as if he’d missed something.  “…okay? That’s fine, too.”

Jason glowered. “It’s not fine. This whole thing – it’s lazy. It’s sloppy. You think you can just take advantage of people because you don’t want to do the right thing and _work_ for it like everyone else? I mean, come on.”

At that, Tim looked taken aback; for the second time that evening he looked as if he’d been delivered words he wasn’t expecting, ones that burrowed deep.

“I know that Dick’s been busy, but he said it was okay –“

“Of course it’s _not okay_ ,” Jason snapped. “You’ve got him _lying_ to people, and then you have the nerve to try and drag me into it?”

Tim stared, wide-eyed, looking younger with every word Jason delivered him.

“And what do you mean, _not experienced_?” Jason was shifting, somehow getting closer as he spoke his mind, pinning Tim in place with his words – even though Tim was beginning to look incredibly confused.

“I mean, I’ve only been at it for a few months, and I…just want to be better before I offer my services to Bruce…?”

“Your endgame is to sleep with _my dad_?”

A moment of quiet passed between them; Tim’s mouth parted as his head tipped sideways, bewilderment consuming his features. “What?” he asked.

“I can’t even believe what I’m hearing,” Jason continued, raking his fingers through his hair.

“I think you’re hearing _voices_ because… _what?”_ Tim’s voice climbed as his expression dissolved to horror, and then he was quickly moving to stand, collecting his things with wild eyes.

Jason managed to snatch his arm, and Tim’s eyes danced from the grip to Jason’s gaze, which was sharp and telling. “You’re destroying a family,” he said, seriously.

“I’m just trying to get an internship!” Tim insisted, trying to shake free. “What are you even…” but Tim’s eyes widened just as Jason’s lips moved to mouth the word _internship_ , and he said, “Oh my God. Oh my _God?_ You think Dick and I? And that I was offering _you…?_ ”

Jason tried to swallow what was happening, every text, every word from Tim’s mouth assaulting him as he tried to put pieces together.

“He goes to your house _every Friday_ –“

“Yeah, to show me Wayne Enterprise coding –“

“You told him you _needed him_. That you didn’t want him buying things for you anymore –“

“Yeah,” Tim nodded hastily. “He was buying me all the decryption programs because I’m a poor college student. I have to _rent_ suits, I mean – _look_ at me, I collect _comics_ , there is no way I’m _seducing_ people in my free time –“

“The suit!” Jason exclaimed, his fingers tightening while Tim flushed, red embarrassment climbing to his ears. “Why are you renting suits?”

Tim swallowed audibly. “There was a gala tonight? I was…supposed to meet Bruce?”

“For an internship,” Jason stated.

“Yeah. Definitely not for…sex,” Tim replied, the words coming out slow and pained.

Quiet caught between them as the train slowed for a stop, and Tim stumbled forward, latching onto a pole with his free hand, coming so close that Jason could nearly taste the smell of dry-clean solution off his suit.

“Why hasn’t Dick told Damian?” he asked.

Tim frowned, but his eyes didn’t shift, they stayed caught on Jason’s – which gave him confidence the words were the truth.

“Damian’s part of hiring. I didn’t want him to know because I don’t really want favoritism? I just…want the job because they think I’m best for it. Not just because Dick believes in me.”

Jason stared at him. There was nothing secretive in Tim’s expression, nothing dishonest about the way he looked almost embarrassed to have said what he did - and then Jason was dropping his arm with a groan.

“I can’t believe this,” he said just before plopping onto a creaking seat. Folding his arms across his chest, he shook his head, seemingly intent to think deep thoughts.

Still standing, Tim reached forward to wrap slender fingers around a steadying pole as the train once again slowed for a stop, his hair curling as an updraft of air spilled in through opened doors. “I can’t either. You thought I was a prostitute.”

For a second, Jason considered apologizing; imagined putting this whole thing behind him - well, maybe not _all_ of it; after all, if Tim got hired that meant Jason would be seeing him around…but as he dug a hand in his pocket to fetch the keys to his bike, he immediately paled.

His change in demeanor must have been noticeable, because Tim quirked an eyebrow his direction. “Too soon?”

Jason frowned, the weight of the evening's happenings forming a pool in his gut. In one instant he was _tired_ , exhaustion teaming with the cold, seeping to his bones; he folded his fingers together and leaned forward, resting his chin against them, the feel of stubble reminding him that he needed to shave.

“Please,” he said, staring at a seat across the way with an almost exaggerated intensity. “Please tell me this is _not_ the last train.”

In response, Tim said nothing; he simply poked his toe against a peeling bit of rubber edging lining the car’s center walkway.

The silence had Jason’s eyes flickering upward; he just happened to catch the moment the train started up again, the sight of Tim’s knuckles going white as he gripped to keep his balance, along with a long pour of fog from his lips bringing Jason to ask, “Well? Is it?”

Tim gave him a look of pity. “You told me not to tell you.”

The sound that came from Jason’s mouth was gruff; a guttural sound of disbelief that had him sitting back in his seat and throwing his head back until it conked against a cold, dirtied window.

“Fucking figures,” he stated. “My bike’s back there,” he dragged an arm up, throwing his thumb the direction that they'd come from. His eyes scanned for the subway map, which was very obviously missing - the plated glass where it belonged was cracked in a corner, as if someone had gone through great lengths to pry it out.

Tim followed his gaze with a look of controlled concern, before asking, “You do realize this is the red line, right?”

Jason hadn't realized anything because he hadn't been paying attention; his one goal for the evening had been to lure Tim out and get answers - and, well, now he _had_ them _and_ he was about to be stranded...unless he had the balls to call Dick to come and pick him up, and _that_ was a can of worms he didn't even want to touch; it was enough that he still had Dick’s phone, that he was going to have to find a way to give it back without being caught.

Tim sighed, and it was a drafty sound; his cheeks and nose were winter-red, and he twisted so that he was leaning forward against the bar, pressing his cheek to cool metal.

“Do you need a place to crash?” he asked, straightforward.

At this, Jason raised an eyebrow.

Tim seemed to latch onto his train of thought, and rolled his eyes as his ears went red. “I have a couch,” he said, almost defensive, a certain amount of cleverness to his words. “A perfectly safe couch, free the first time, you know, so you can get a feel for her. Best night of your life, no strings attached.”

Jason watched Tim pull off the comment, completely straight-faced and licked his lips into forming a smile; though he cleared his throat shortly after, pairing the sound with a casual shrug.

“I dunno, sounds a bit sketchy...how do I know she’s even my type?”

Tim hummed, long and thoughtful. “Well, she comes with a Star Wars blanket, and if you don't like that, you may not be a good match after all.”

“Which Star Wars are we talking about? I'm not sleeping with Hayden Chris-”

Drawing a hand to his heart, Tim gasped. “He who must not be named,” he commented, and then leaned forward a bit more, until the silver balance bar fell to rest against the curve of his neck. He tsk’d in reprimand.

“Isn't that Voldemort?”

Tim smiled, looking oddly pleased. It made Jason feel an odd sense of pride, one that he kept to himself.

“All right,” he agreed. “But it's probably best if we keep this whole thing just between us. Not really sure how Dick would react to all of this, to be honest.”

Tim considered it, and then nodded. “Agreed,” and then he held out a hand, folding his fingers in a way that made Jason snort.

“What are we, five?”

Tim shook his hand, until Jason was forced to give in and lock his pinky finger with Tim’s.

“I promise not to tell Dick that you somehow managed to lure me to the red light district under the assumption that Dick was my sugar daddy.”

Put that way, Jason almost winced.

“I promise not to get in the way of you getting hired.”

At that, Tim’s expression brightened.

The train made a squealing sound, and a recording echoed as it pulled into the next station, blank slates of white tiles stretching as far as the eye could see beyond fogged windows.

“This is us,” Tim said, and when he pulled back, Jason rose to follow, feeling Dick's phone buzz once again in his pocket.

He tugged it out, surprised to see that it was Damian.

 ______________________________________  
**Damian** 11:28pm

Todd, please refrain from being an idiot. You know that I can track Dick’s phone.  
______________________________________

  
Jason grimaced; he hadn't thought of that. He quickly typed back: _You _could_ but you probably shouldn’t._

______________________________________  
**Damian** 11:30pm

 _And why is that?  
_ ______________________________________

  
Jason huffed, and caught Tim pausing on the platform, looking back at him with barely recognizable concern.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Right behind you.”

 _Dick's not cheating,_ Jason quickly thumbed back. _You can thank me later._

______________________________________  
**Damian** 11:31pm

 _what  
_ ______________________________________

   
  
Jason added: _See you tomorrow, squirt._

  
______________________________________  
**Damian** 11:32pm

 _Nineteen, Todd. I'm nineteen.  
_ ______________________________________

   
  
_And somehow still a brat,_ Jason sighed aloud as he texted. _How do you pull it off?_  
  
  
______________________________________  
**Damian** 11:3 _3_ pm

 _Learning from my elders.  
_ ______________________________________

   
Jason decided to leave it at that; he deleted all email chains that could possibly ruin him just before turning off Dick’s phone. It only took a few lengthy paces to catch up to Tim, but they fell in sync with ease.

“I still can't believe you thought I was a prostitute.”

Jason caught Tim’s profile, backlit by a street lamp. They were mid city, not in the best part of town, and the world was achingly quiet.

“Must’ve been your boyish charm. And the suit.”

“It's a rental,” Tim repeated.

“As you've said,” Jason said, thinking the sky looked clouded and starless, lazy and sprawling.

“I'll try not to wear suits in front of you,” Tim stated. “Wouldn't want you to mistake my intentions.”

Jason found himself swallowing, easily following Tim on down a windless sidewalk, distant headlights blotting the horizon like a calling card for home.

"You don't have to go _that_ far,” Jason said, not entirely sure what he meant.

Tim didn't look back, and Jason wondered if the scarlet on his ears and neck was a result of the cold or something else.

Jason tucked his hands in his pockets.

Oddly, he hoped for _something else._

  
  
  



End file.
